LOOKING FOR TEST SUBJECTS!

Do you want to earn quick money? Are you unafraid of unusual conditions?

The Institute of Biogenic Research is seeking individuals willing to participate in a short-term experiment in a controlled environment.

This is a legal, approved procedure designed to push the boundaries of modern science!

Requirements:

  • Legal adulthood and basic medical fitness
  • Resistance to extreme conditions
  • Ability to maintain confidentiality
  • No genetic anomalies

We offer:

  • 50,000 arens for 72 hours of participation
  • Full medical supervision throughout the experiment
  • Comfortable accommodation in the testing sector
  • Opportunity for permanent cooperation for selected candidates

WARNING:

Side effects are unlikely. Previous test series recorded only 8.6% cases of disorientation, temporary memory loss, or dream-like hallucinations.

Exclusions: Individuals with metal implants, severe spongus allergies, or dependency on hallucinogenic substances.

Admission Center: Laboratory A-9, Western Sector

Contact: 100-982-EXPR

Limited capacity – applications open until spots are filled!

"Science means progress. Be part of the future."



Reng, Oasis Oko Lahab


"Jo... jo... join u-us. Do you wa...wa...want sa...sa...safety... ah, screw this." Borin angrily threw the flyer onto the table, frustrated after struggling with it for some time.


Reng merely glanced up from the dismantled weapon that had been testing his patience for days. He’d bought it for a “great price” from an old peddler’s shop.

Seemed like a good deal at first. Until he realized it might have been the very thing that cost its previous owner their life. No matter how many times he tried to fix it, it refused to work, so now he was taking it apart just out of spite.


"Join us. Do you want a safe world and the chance to become something more? Prim is looking for the future heroes of a new era," Reng read aloud from the flyer Borin had discarded, raising an eyebrow. "By the whiptail, where did you get this?"


"Some guy at the market was handing them out. Said they're recruiting anyone who's interested," Borin replied.


"Recruiting for what?"


"Dunno, just said they need people."


Reng shook his head and crumpled the flyer. "I hope you realize this is bullshit."


"Maybe for you, but I'm actually considering it." Borin picked up the flyer and straightened it again.


Reng leaned forward and pointed at a small mark in the corner. "See this? That’s a PDC insignia."


"The army?"


"Worse. The Prim Defence Corps. The lowest of the low. They promise you a high wage because they know damn well you won’t live long enough to spend it. Especially not in the South."


"Maybe that’s still better than what we have here? Debts and a whole lot of nothing," Borin snapped, but after a brief hesitation, he placed the flyer back on the table.

Reng sighed. This was an argument they had often, and each time, it became harder to find a reason to stay. He understood Borin’s frustration—he just had less patience for the way he chose to express it.


"Fine. I'll stop by the market tomorrow morning and ask the Scouts about it," he offered, resigned.


"Nothing like last time, got it?" Borin smirked.


"If you’d kept your mouth shut back then, it would’ve gone just fine," Reng shot back, slightly annoyed.


"They were trying to scam us."


"So your solution was to call them fucking bastards and pull a knife on them?"


Borin chuckled at the memory of the brawl his words had sparked and sprawled out on the bed without even bothering to take off his boots. Reng just shook his head. These little things were what created the massive gap between them.


"Maybe that’s why we don’t get many jobs," he muttered sourly. "We keep doing something wrong."


He went back to the dismantled weapon, irritated, but he couldn't focus on it. His thoughts were elsewhere. He knew the market in the morning wouldn’t bring any miracles, but he’d made a promise. And promises were the one thing he could still afford to keep.


Because Borin was right. Their business was worthless. Loan Grun, the biggest cattleman around, had long stopped needing men like them. Unlike Kalen, he had fully switched to the available technologies—energy fences, machines, and all those spongus-powered werren gadgets. Because of that, he only needed a few ranch hands from time to time, hiring them for short bursts and then tossing them out when the job was done. That’s why Loan was thriving while they were barely scraping by.


"Look, tomorrow we’ll get paid for that last job, and then we either move on or I try something else," Borin declared with determination, absentmindedly fiddling with the flyer between his fingers.


Reng heard him quietly sounding out the words again. This time, the letters seemed to come together more easily, and he hoped Borin would finally grasp the meaning. Though, judging by the look on his face, he doubted it was having the intended effect.


***


As promised, Reng set out for the market early in the morning. He knew the Scouts’ office wouldn’t be open yet, so he strolled through the empty streets at a slow pace. This was his favorite time of day—the moment when night turned into morning, and everything around him was wrapped in a strange, fleeting calm. It didn’t matter if he was in a backwater town like Karhen Rouz or a place like Oko Lahab. In these moments, the day was simply at its best.


And yet, as he took in the wide streets and towering buildings, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this world still wasn’t his. The first day after his arrival, he had spent hours with his head tilted back, mesmerized by the structures that seemed to touch the sky. Ela had described places like this in her letters, but even the vividness of her words couldn’t capture everything. Oko Lahab was a prosperous and advanced oasis, yet like every other place, it had its darker side. The glittering façade concealed deeper problems.


The first thing Reng couldn’t ignore was how expensive everything was. The cost of living was staggering. Within their first month, they had burned through an entire paycheck just to rent a tiny room with nothing more than two beds, a wardrobe, and a small table. They barely had time to get their bearings before they were scrambling for work to afford another month’s rent.


At first glance, there were plenty of jobs, but most were either poorly paid, dangerous, or outright illegal. The only real source of stable employment was the Scouts’ office. Reng had initially hoped they might be able to join, but he quickly realized they stood no chance. No papers, no background, no prior experience—there was nothing to talk about. Their only option was “guarantee-free work.” Poorly paid, but at least safe jobs. Barely enough to get by. Sometimes. He could only hope that today, he’d find something to help them bridge the gap to the next stretch.


He arrived at the marketplace, the heart of the oasis. This early in the morning, only a few vendors were setting up their stalls, but Reng knew that soon, this place would be overflowing with people. The market offered everything imaginable, from food and drink to equipment and services—both legal and illegal. It all depended on who had the guts to buy or sell.


He tossed a small coin to one of the vendors and grabbed a piece of fresh bread. By the time he finished eating on his way to the guild, he considered breakfast taken care of.


Two men were already standing at the entrance marked SCOUTS. Reng took his place behind them and leaned against the wall, only half-listening to their conversation—until he realized one of them was speaking directly to him.


"Hey, kid, you’re one of the guys who drove in Loan’s herd, aren’t you?"


Surprised, Reng nodded.


"That was damn good work," the man continued. "With how few of you there were, it’s a miracle you pulled it off. Some guys at the bar were talking about it last night. No one thought Loan would ever see those hornbeasts again."


"What I wanna know is who caused it," the second man chimed in. "Someone had to take down those energy fences. And the way they scattered… I’d bet my neck someone did that on purpose."


Reng’s interest piqued. From the beginning, he’d insisted that the herd hadn’t just bolted on its own, but no one had listened to him—he was just a greenhorn. The truth was, it had cost him and Borin six days and six nights of relentless work. Scouring the vast terrain on nimble machines, rounding up the scattered animals, and herding them back together. It had been just as grueling as his time with Kalen, but knowing they’d get a decent payout kept him going.


If someone really had sabotaged those fences, they could easily do it again. And as selfish as it was, Reng saw that as an opportunity. More work meant more pay.

"I'd bet my neck it was those damn Scavengers," said a newly arrived man as he stepped behind Reng and seamlessly joined the conversation.


Reng knew exactly who he was talking about. The Scavengers were the work of Perth Burkhen—Gramps, whose face Reng had recently seen on an infovision broadcast. A fresh bounty had just been placed on his head. The investigation into the recent explosion at one of the spongus mines had revealed that it hadn’t been an accident, as initially believed, but a blatant terrorist attack. And all evidence pointed straight to Gramps.


As it turned out, he had managed to rally the Scavengers—a desperate underclass living near every mine, surviving off whatever the mining companies let slip through their fingers. No rules, no guarantees, just hunger and rage. The kind of people who looked up to Gramps. The kind who would follow him.


And now they’d made it all the way here? Reng nodded to himself. If he ever ran into them, it would be a bad day.


His thoughts were interrupted by the click of a lock as the guild’s doors opened. The two men ahead of him stepped inside and disappeared into the back rooms—places he didn’t have access to. He stopped at the terminal by the entrance, pressing his palm against the scanner to check the job listings. The available work was even worse than usual. He carefully scrolled through every listing, but nothing stood out as useful. Frowning, he logged out and returned to the market.


The square in front of him was already coming to life. Vendors were setting up their stalls, buyers trickling in, and the hum of trade was growing stronger by the minute. But Reng still had time. Their meeting with the ranchers who had helped recover Loan’s herd wasn’t until the afternoon, leaving him with enough time to scout the marketplace for a job. He just had to be careful—here, seemingly innocent offers often turned into the kind of trouble no one wanted to get involved in.


"We’re looking for new recruits! Become part of something big—something that will change you and your world!"


Reng ignored the voice at first, but when it grew closer, he couldn’t resist glancing up. A recruiter in a gray uniform, carrying a stack of flyers, had stopped directly in front of him. There was no doubt—this was the same guy Borin had met yesterday.


"And what about you, young man? Interested in becoming extraordinary?"


"Miracles on demand?" Reng smirked.


"It’s far from a miracle, but it will definitely change your life."


"Yeah, I know," Reng snapped. "It sends you straight to the grave. I'm not as stupid as I look. I know exactly what you are."


"And what do you think we are?" The recruiter’s smile remained fixed in place, but there was a flicker in his eyes.


Reng shrugged. "PDC. Con artists recruiting fresh meat for the South."


The recruiter raised an eyebrow, as if Reng had just said something hopelessly naïve. "You don’t know nearly enough, friend. In reality, we give people an opportunity. We take anyone—no prejudice, no matter their past. We offer a second chance. Debts? Gone. Facing prison? We’ll take you in and even pay you."


"So you’re a shelter for debtors, thieves, and murderers?" Reng laughed.


The recruiter chuckled as well. "That’s rich, coming from someone who looks like he could use a fresh start himself." He let Reng sit with that thought for a moment before continuing. "Look, not all of us are lost causes. Some of us actually want to make a difference. There are dreamers and idealists among us, too. Why do you think the Institute works with us?"


That caught Reng off guard. "The Institute?"


"Of course. They supply us with equipment, medicine, and take care of our people. Nowhere else gives you a better shot at survival than the PDC." The recruiter folded his arms casually. "Think it over, kid. You look like someone who could go far if you just changed your mind. Just in case—you’ll find our office address on the flyer."


With a smug grin, he shoved the flyer into Reng’s pocket and disappeared into the crowd before Reng could reply.


Reng grabbed the flyer, fully intending to rip it apart—but then he hesitated.


The Institute.


The thoughts he had been shoving into the darkest corners of his mind ever since escaping Karhen Rouz came rushing back, full force.


Ela.


She had worked and studied at the Institute. How would she react if he reached out to her? Maybe she didn’t even know he had escaped from Karhen Rouz and never returned. Maybe she was worried about him. Or maybe not—considering she had managed to rob him on her way out. But maybe… if she had the chance, she would apologize. And if they both tried, things could be like they used to be.


Thoughts spun in his head as his eyes wandered to the market’s public notice board, which pointed toward the nearby communication terminals. Just a few steps away. He took that as a sign. Fate wanted him to try.



He dropped a few coins into the first terminal and entered her name. The loading symbol flickered away, replaced by a simple message:


“Requested contact not found.”


Reng stared at the screen. He must have made a mistake. He typed it in again, slowly, carefully. The result didn’t change.


He headed to a small window where the terminal clerk was lounging comfortably, looking thoroughly unbothered by life.


"I’m looking for a contact," Reng said, showing him the flyer where he had scribbled Ela’s name.


The clerk lazily leaned forward, punching the name into his system, only to shake his head moments later. "Nothing. You sure you spelled it right?"


"Absolutely," Reng replied. "She should be in Prim, working for the Institute."


"Hm." The clerk propped his elbows on the counter. "If she’s with the Institute, you might not find her. They keep their people locked down tight—some of them spend their whole lives there, and the world never hears about them."


"That’s bullshit," Reng snapped. "I spoke to her just a year ago."


"A year is a long time." The clerk shrugged. "Even the Institute has its dead. Last fall, they lost an entire lab. Nasty business. The whole building came down like a house of cards. She might’ve been among them."


Reng felt his blood freeze. "Dead?"


"Yeah, it was all over the infovision. A massacre. Where the hell were you that you didn’t hear about it?"


Reng remained silent. Truth was, he’d probably been somewhere out in the Raj with Kalen’s herd, completely cut off from the outside world. And now, that ignorance weighed on him.


"Can you check who was among the victims?"


The clerk entered the name into a different database, and the wait felt like an eternity before he shook his head again.


"She’s not on the list."


"So she’s alive?" Reng asked.


"Who knows? Some things from the Institute just don’t get out."


Reng offered a curt thanks and paid for the clerk’s time before heading back into the market, trying to sort through his thoughts. Should he believe that Ela was safe? Maybe. But he had no proof.


His fingers unconsciously traced the thin bracelet of beads and colorful threads on his wrist—the one she had given him that last night. Despite everything she had done to him, he still wore it. Maybe out of nostalgia. Maybe as a reminder that nothing ever turned out the way he wanted.


But now, he knew what he was going to do. Tomorrow, he would catch a transport to Prim and try to find her. Even if it was only to return that small piece of jewelry.

With that decision, he made his way home, gripping the door handle with a sense of foreboding—knowing Borin would have something to say about him returning empty-handed, without a job as promised.


But the startled scream of a woman and a string of curses quickly convinced him to slam the door shut again. A hard thud against the door—most likely a boot thrown by Borin—made it very clear he was not welcome inside.


Reng didn’t need to guess what was happening or who the woman was. She lived a floor below them, like the rest of the girls who survived the only way they knew how.


He slid down against the wall onto the grimy floor, closed his eyes, and covered his ears. He waited—just like always.


The sounds from the room finally died down, but before Reng could get up, a loud exchange of sharp words erupted. The door slammed open, and an angry young woman stood in the doorway. When she noticed Reng sitting on the floor, she shouted, “Your friend’s a fucking bastard! He won’t pay me!”


Reng pulled the last of his coins from his pocket and dropped them into her palm. She shot him a disdainful look, unimpressed by the measly amount, then spun on her heel and stormed off toward the stairs.


"You owe me one. Again," Reng said dryly as he shut the door behind her.


Borin was sprawled out on the bed, lazily stretching. “Wasn’t even worth it,” he smirked. “Did you find anything?”


"Nothing today. We’ll see tomorrow," Reng lied, knowing full well that instead of looking for work, he’d be heading for a transport to Prim.


Borin growled in disappointment but, for once, spared him the complaints.


Reng laid out his only clean shirt on the bed and dusted off the wide-brimmed hat he hadn’t touched since they arrived in the oasis. It had been sitting in the wardrobe, collecting dust—a reminder of everything he had been through since then. Now, he set it back on his head.


It still fit perfectly.


"You really wanna look like a yokel?" Borin jabbed at him.


"I am a yokel," Reng shot back, determined to keep it. He wanted everyone to remember who had helped bring that herd back.